Armenian Legends and Poems 4

Armenian Legends and Poems 4

HUNTSMAN, THAT ON THE HILLS ABOVE

 

By AVETIS ISAHAKIAN

 

 

“Huntsman, that on the hills above

To hunt the deer hast been,

Tell me, I pray thee, if my love—

My wild deer thou hast seen?

 

“He sought the hills his grief to quell—

My darling love, my sun.

He wandered out upon the fell,

My flower, my only one.”

 

“Maiden, I saw your lover true,

All girt with red and green.

Upon his breast a rose tree grew

Where once your kiss had been.”

 

“Huntsman, I pray, who is the bride

Of my beloved, my sun?

Who tends him, watching by his side,

My flower, my only one?”

 

“Maiden, I saw him with his head

Upon a stone at rest.

And for his love, a bullet red

Into his heart was pressed.

 

“The mountain breeze caressingly

Played with his jet-black hair,

And blossoms wept unceasingly

Your flower, your lover there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIBERTY

 

By MIKAEL NALBANDIAN

 

(1829–1866)

 

 

When the God of Liberty

Formed of earth this mortal frame,

Breathed the breath of life in me,

And a spirit I became,

 

Wrapped within my swaddling bands,

Bound and fettered helplessly, [3]

I stretched forth my infant hands

To embrace sweet Liberty.

 

All night long, until the dawn,

In my cradle bound I lay;

And my sobbing’s ceaseless moan

Drove my mother’s sleep away.

 

As I begged her, weeping loud,

To unbind and set me free;

From that very day I vowed

I would love thee, Liberty!

 

When upon my parents’ ear

First my lisping accents fell,

And their hearts rejoiced to hear

Me my childish wishes tell,

 

Then the words that first I spoke

Were not “father, mother dear”:

“Liberty!” the accents broke

In my infant utterance clear.

 

“Liberty!” The voice of Doom

Echoed to me from above,

“Wilt thou swear until the tomb

Liberty to serve and love?

 

“Thorny is the path, and dim;

Many trials wait for thee:

Far too small this world for him

Who doth worship Liberty!”

 

“Liberty!” I made reply,

“O’er my head let thunders burst,

Lightnings flash, and missiles fly—

Foes conspire to do their worst;

 

“Till I die, or meet my doom,

On the shameful gallows-tree,—

Till the portals of the tomb,

I will shout forth Liberty!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I BEHELD MY LOVE THIS MORNING

 

By SAYAT NOVA

 

(1712–1795)

 

 

I beheld my love this morning, in the garden paths she strayed,

All brocaded was the ground with prints her golden pattens made;

Like the nightingale, I warbled round my rose with wings displayed,

And I wept, my reason faltered, while my heart was sore dismayed.

Grant, O Lord, that all my foemen to such grief may be betrayed!

 

Love, with these thy whims and humours thou hast wrecked and ruined me.

Thou hast drunk of love’s own nectar, thy lips speak entrancingly.

With those honeyed words how many like me thou hast bound to thee!

Take the knife and slay me straightway—pass not by me mockingly.

Since I die of love, ‘twere better Beauty stabbed and set me free.

 

For I have no love beside thee—I would have thee know it well.

Thou for whom e’en death I’d suffer, list to what I have to tell.

See thou thwart not thy Creator,—all the past do not dispel:

Anger not thy Sayat Nova, for when in thy snare he fell

He was all bereft of reason by thy whims’ and humours’ spell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE BEAR

 

FOLK SONG

 

 

The little fox, the wolf and bear made peace;

Like kinsfolk all, they bade their warfare cease.

The fox they consecrate a hermit now;—

False monk, false hermit, false recluse’s vow!

 

The little fox a sack found in the street

Through which he thrust his head; then shod his feet

With iron shoes, and got a staff, I trow—

False monk, false hermit, false recluse’s vow!

 

The fox has sent the wolf to fetch the bear.

“For him,” he said, “I live this life of care;

Yet never hath he sent me aught to eat:—

Sore are my knees with walking, sore my feet!”

 

At morning dawn forth to the hunt they creep;

A ram they catch, a lambkin and a sheep.

Holy dispenser is the wolf proclaimed—

Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!

 

He gives the sheep as portion to the bear;

The lambkin falls to the poor hermit’s share.

“The ram for me,” he said, “I’m tired and lamed”—

Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!

 

The bear was wroth, and turned him round about,

And with one blow the wolf’s two eyes put out.

“That sheep for me, a bear so great and famed?

Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!”

 

The little fox is sore afraid, and sees

A trap laid ready with a piece of cheese.

“O uncle, see, I’ve built a convent here,”

He said, “a place of rest, a place of prayer!”

 

The bear stretched out his paw for the repast,

The trap upon his neck closed hard and fast.

“Help me, my little nephew, for I fear

This is no convent, ’tis no house of prayer!”

 

The little fox with joy beheld the whole